


Half a Person

by thebaloonatic



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1980s, F/F, First Love, Grief/Mourning, HIV/AIDS, Homophobia, LGBT, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 01:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6834160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaloonatic/pseuds/thebaloonatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about friendship, love, and loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half a Person

**Author's Note:**

> A short story I wrote for my creative writing midterm. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out, so I'm uploading it here as well. The title is taken from the Smith's song of the same name. Enjoy! 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @ threegarridebshell.tumblr.com!

April 20th, 1989

 

You watch as Cyndi hurls her coffee mug at the wall. The glass shatters and leaves a dent in the plaster. You see it in slow motion, the pieces spiraling out in each direction. Whoever rents this apartment after you will not put much thought into the new dent in the wall. They would have no reason to suspect that the dent signifies the end of all things good. You will look at that dent and see despair, everyone else will see an imperfection. Cyndi is breathing raggedly, and you wipe your own tears from your face, feeling numb. 

 

“That was your favorite mug.”

 

**.**

 

The funeral was well attended by friends and not so well attended by family members. This was common for people from their community. Death’s like Max’s were ones best forgotten. They were embarrassing. 

 

They played Max’s favorite songs:  _ Rebel Rebel, Ask Me, Karma Chameleon.  _ The catchy songs were diminished by all the crying. Max had asked for the songs to be played, but you wish they could just turn it off. You grip Cyndi’s hand beside you and stare ahead, trying to breathe around the gaping hole inside you. When it’s your turn to pay your respects and you approach the casket, you find you can not speak. Your throat closes up when you look at his face, spotted in dark blisters, and you turn away. 

 

Max deserved better than that, you know, and shame swells inside you. 

 

**.**

 

Years later they would say that each gay person knew at least one person with HIV during the AIDS epidemic of the 1980’s and 90’s. These statistics were not spread by the LGBT community. They were spread by those who may call themselves ‘allies,’ but none of those people really understand the impact the epidemic had on your life. You think it is much more accurate to say you lost twelve friends, even twenty.

 

You and Cyndi often frequented the  _ Pyramid Club,  _ one of the only gay clubs that managed to stay open through the crisis. It had also been Max’s favorite hangout. Every week, it seemed, another regular patron of the club was diagnosed, and some just stopped coming in altogether. It was no great leap to guess what had happened to them. 

 

**.**

 

You had been friends with Max for years before either of you met Cyndi. You had both moved to New York to attend college, and after meeting at a dorm party in your first year, you became fast friends. You had noticed something different about him right away; he wore dark jeans- which you later learned he washed in his dorm kitchen sink to make as tight as possible, and t-shirts that were a size too small. He had an undercut, but his curly bangs fell in his face regularly. You did not have to hide who you were from him, but you did not have to formally come out to him either. You set him up with the cute boy in your chemistry class and he took you to your first gay bar. You received strange looks at first, and you noticed that there were not many other lesbians befriending gay men like you and Max. You learned to ignore the stares eventually. 

 

When you graduated, you and Max rented a shabby apartment together, though the close quarters hardly bothered you. Max spent far more nights out than you did. He had a passion for karaoke and dancing that you could never match. He met Cyndi at a Bowie tribute night at some bar, and after hearing her sing a perfect rendition of  _ Velvet Goldmine,  _ he just  _ had  _ to introduce her to you.

 

At least, that is what Max said happened. Cyndi told a different story; Max spilled his drink on her top and stepped on her toes while they were on the dance floor. Max’s version was sexier, admittedly, but Cyndi’s much more believable. What really mattered in the end, really, was that you met Cyndi. 

 

**.**

 

Cyndi really was a wonder. She had a knack for singing and dancing that even Max could not beat. She knew every Blondie song word-for-word, and owned a music library that would put most record stores to shame. She cracked jokes that made you giggle uncontrollably, and you found that you could not get enough.

 

“Are you a vegetarian?” you asked the first time you had gone to Cyndi’s house and found nothing in the fridge to make a sandwich with but peanut butter and jelly. 

 

“I think it’s morally repugnant to kill something for no reason,” Cyndi responded. 

 

“You read Adrienne Rich?” you asked later on, rather excitedly, after noticing Cyndi had a few of Rich’s publications scattered on her bookshelf

 

Cyndi’s eyes flickered up briefly from where she was painting her toenails and smiled. “She’s one of my favorites.”

 

On your first date, you went to Central Park. It was October and the leaves were vibrant orange and the air was crisp. You walked hand-in-mittened-hand, oblivious to the people around you. Cyndi fed frozen peas to the ducks.

 

“Bread is bad for them.” she explained. “It fills them up but it doesn’t have any of the vitamins they need. They get malnourished.”

 

**.**

 

The best part of the whole situation, in your mind, was that Cyndi and Max got along just fine, and together the three of you made a perfect team. You spent a lot of time at the  _ Pyramid _ , but other times you spent money you did not have on bad sushi or B movies. Even when you eventually moved in with Cyndi you still managed to find the time, though you admittedly saw a little bit less of him. He even went to the animal shelter to help the two of you pick out a cat.

 

“This one looks just like me, you have to get him.” Max had pointed at a dark, long-haired cat sitting in the corner of his cage. You laughed while Cyndi, looking at the kittens, replied “Absolutely not. It’s hard enough taking care of one of you, nevermind a second.” 

 

“We can’t adopt those kittens, someone else will take them. It’s the adult cats who need us.” you say.

 

Cyndi finds a calico cat with three legs, and there really is no question about adopting her. You name her Lemon.

 

**.**

 

You start hearing of the deaths not long after that. It was mentioned on the news, in the papers, in passing at the bar. It seemed far away from you, in the beginning. Something to be sorry for, but not something that would affect your life directly. 

 

As time went on, however, the virus spread, and people you knew began to contract the illness. First one, then a second, and a third, fourth, fifth… By then it was known as an epidemic, the AIDS epidemic, and it felt much more real to you. 

 

“It’s so blatantly homophobic the way they talk about it,” Cyndi was saying one night, as you made dinner and watched the evening news. “It’s like they are jumping for a reason to blame gay people for getting sick.” 

 

You averted your eyes from the television, focusing on the peppers you were cutting instead. Lemon rubbed up against your shin, meowing loudly, and you let the distraction comfort you.

 

“I wonder if they would use the same condescending language if it affected straight people nearly as much.” Cyndi continued, furiously grating carrots into a bowl. 

 

The door opened then, cutting off any more of Cyndi’s rant. Max entered, shoulders slightly damp from the rain outside and carrying a large shopping bag.

 

“Evening,” he said, kicking the door shut and dumping the bag on the counter. He frowned at your halfhearted greeting. “Why the long faces?” 

 

You nod towards the television and Max’s face shuttered. “No, none of that,” he said, before turning the television off and pulling two bottles of wine from the shopping bag. “We’re going to get drunk and forget all of that shit.”

 

**.**

 

October 18th, 1987

 

“Max, will you turn that down? It’s depressing us already.” You shout as you kick his apartment door shut, Cyndi a step ahead of you.  _ Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me  _ is playing loud enough that you want to cover you ears. 

 

“He’s probably drooling over a poster of Moz,” Cyndi shouts into your ear as you make your way into the living room, where you find Max sprawled out on the sofa, arm flopped over his face. You frown and go to shut off the music, ears ringing in the ensuing silence. 

 

“Alright, what’s with the adolescent levels of dramatics?” Cyndi tries to sound lighthearted, but her voice is tight, and her brow is slightly furrowed. 

 

“Max?” You ask nervously when he doesn’t reply right away. He does shift then, sitting up slowly and fumbling for a piece of paper on the floor. He clears his throat loudly as you take it from him and scrubs his hands across his face.

 

“What’s this?” you ask as you read. You see it’s from the local clinic and your heart plummets. You’d seen this happen with so many others, people you considered friends, but not Max. Never Max. The words swim before your eyes. 

 

_ HIV Positive _

 

**.**

 

After that day, Max goes about his life as usual. You all still go to the  _ Pyramid,  _ to the movies, and eat bad sushi. Another friend passes away, but you don’t talk about Max’s diagnosis. That is, not until a year later when Max loses twenty pounds, develops a persistent fever, and sores appear on his eyelids and mouth.

 

After his second diagnosis, he moves in with you and Cyndi. He can’t work and can’t pay his rent, so he spends most days lying on your futon with Lemon curled up by his hip, his fingers stroking idly through her fur. The night before he moves to a hospital bed, you host a karaoke party in your living room. You prop Max up on the futon with some pillows and manage to fit fifteen people in your living room, each one eager to say hello and to sing poor renditions of their favorite songs.

 

Halfway through the party, you look around and a lump forms in your throat. You wish it would not end. All you want is to sing and dance with the people who make you feel accepted, the people you love, but how could you ever feel this way again if Max is gone? You clench your jaw and blink back a few angry tears, feeling like your world is caving in around you, but are startled when you feel fingers thread through yours and squeeze gently. Max leans more heavily against you, resting his head on your shoulder, and you make yourself take a deep breath, remembering where you are. 

 

That night, the three of you and Lemon squeeze onto the futon, surrounded by empty cups and crumpled chip bags, to savor one last night together. While Max falls asleep instantly, you and Cyndi lay awake gripping each other, preparing yourselves for the days to come. 

 

**.**

 

April 17th, 1989

 

Max’s parents never visited him at the hospital, though you call them on a payphone in the early hours of the morning to relay the news anyway. You wonder if they deserve to know. You hate them for making you call. 

 

The hospital is quiet; half-awake doctors and nurses shuffling through the hallways and sipping too-hot coffees are the only people about. The fluorescent lighting drains everything of color. The only thing that feels real are Cyndi’s hands threading through yours as you hang up the phone, squeezing.

 

**.**

 

Two weeks after the funeral, you go back to the animal shelter. You ask for the black cat that looked like Max. They bring you a black cat, but it’s not the same one. Of course it’s not, you adopted Lemon three years ago. You want to ask if he was ever adopted, but you do not. You could not bear it if he was euthanized. 

 

You hope that he is happy. 

  
  



End file.
